


you found me

by babybirdblues



Series: dcu misc fic parts [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: Gen, basically Bruce and Martha bonding, good dad Bruce Wayne, i wrote this for tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-04 01:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybirdblues/pseuds/babybirdblues
Summary: “I,” he pauses, hums and taps his fingers on the table.  Does he have any hobbies that aren’t Brucie Wayne’s? “I collect orphans?”





	you found me

**Author's Note:**

> Here is another work I wrote a long time ago and just rediscovered. I wrote it for tumblr. But, idk if anyone noticed it tbh. So! Have some awkward Bruce being a proud duck. And by that I mean Bruce is a good dad.

There’s a look on Martha’s face that Bruce can’t place. He pushes memories of his own mother away, violently shaking away images from his eyes as a ghost superimposes herself over Clark’s mother.

“I,” he pauses, hums and taps his fingers on the table. Does he have any hobbies that aren’t Brucie Wayne’s? “I collect orphans?”

Martha blinks, mouth dropping open into a little ‘o’, silently.

“That’s, not what I meant. I mean, I adopt children. Five of them, maybe six?.” He could have said that better. Could be saying it all better really -- and is adopting children a hobby? Is it something he likes to do? He likes to listen to Dick chatter away, likes to get a phone call from Jason on the odd day to know he’s still alive, and the pride he has when Tim and Damian actually get along, well, there is no bounds. Cassandra is his only well adjusted child (and that is saying something). He’s not even sure if he’s adopted Stephanie. She’s just always _ there _ .

“I suppose that’s nice, dear.” Martha obviously doesn’t know what to say, and it’s not like she can ask Clark for help. “What do they do?”

This Bruce can answer. This Bruce is good at.

“Dick’s my oldest,” he even has a photo of him. Maybe even photos of them all. “I adopted him after he watched his parents die. He likes to electrify things a bit too much but he did a good job being Batman and step-in dad for the rest of the kids when I was dead, so I can’t be too mad at that. He likes to talk a lot, even when I can only half listen and I’m a bit worried about his love for sugary cereal. I mean, he might be in shape but what if he develops diabetes? There’s always a possibility. Alfred tells me I’m worrying for nothing--” he glances up from picking out a photo of Jason scrubbing at a particular difficult bloodstain, just to make sure Martha’s still there. She is. 

“But I still worry, you know? Anyways, this is Jason. He died on me. I mean, not on purpose. But he still died and I didn’t really want any kids after that. Because it was my fault. And then the kid comes back and starts killing people and thinks he has the right to have his own brand of justice. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to smack it into his head -- oh this is Tim.”

Bruce pauses, tilts his head and looks at the photo. It’s actually a picture of Jack Drake and Tim, after Jack woke up. “Tim adopted me first, I think. But I’m proud of him. He did everything himself, learned it all, took the initiative. Oh, this one is of him punching through cinder blocks! He was so excited to show me. I ordered him a whole truck so he could show me over and over again. The blonde in the background, appearing to be screaming is Stephanie. I’m not actually sure if she’s mine? I mean, she is if she wants to be. But I don’t know if I adopted her or not. She’s just always there. Anyways, this is my baby girl Cassandra. Best one there is because she behaves. I can leave her alone for days without having to worry about something being destroyed or anyone being killed. It’s great. Damian’s my youngest--”

There’s a sound that stops Bruce when he takes a breath. It takes him a moment to realise it’s laughter. Martha’s leaning on her hand and laughing, soft and bright as she listens to him. “Don’t stop on my account. Tell me about Damian.”

Bruce clears his throat, shifting weight his weight to the right and making the chair creak. “Well, he’s the youngest and biologically mine. He’s. He’s a work in progress. Doesn’t get what it means to be a sibling. He’s trying now though. Learning.” He shuffles a few more photos -- Tim sleeping on Dick’s back as he does pushups, Alfred bringing an injured Cassandra soup, Damian chasing Jason with a sword, himself in the study about to be ‘surprise attacked’ by Dick and Jason -- until he finds a family photo. A fond smile stretches across his lips. “And here’s all of us. You know, it took three hours to take this? They kept trying to kill each other. If it wasn’t Jason and Tim, it was Damian and Tim or Damian and Steph, or Dick and Jason. Not only that but I had to make promises to get them in suits and formal dresses. And it isn’t even that they aren’t handsome and beautiful out of them, but they always complain about how uncomfortable they are. But they did it in the end. For me.”

Martha huffs as she raises from her seat. Her footsteps are steady, comforting as she walks towards the fridge -- she doesn’t comment on how quiet Bruce’s voice has become, how his fingers trail across the photo, mapping the faces of his children. When she finally talks her voice is light and thoughtful.

“I think that’s a good hobby to have, Bruce.”

He blinks, raising his head. “I’m sorry?”

“Finding new ways to tell your family you love them.”


End file.
